Strings of blue light snapped like delicate strands of thread,growing dim as they fell away. The woman made no protests, trapped in acontinual loop of frightening memories. The edges of the woman’s skin turnedblack, chipping and flaking like peeling paint leaving gaping holes. Tabithafought the urge to avert her eyes from the ghost’s second death. Cracked andcrumbling, nothing remained. Like every decoding before, the remnant dissolvedinto nothing, a husk of the deceased, erased for eternity.
Like every time before, the ghost, remnant, or whatever youcalled the dead in the afterlife, vanished into nothing. The echo of a persondeconstructed forever, released from reliving the torment that brought them tothis place. Tabitha silently prayed, that when all she could recall was how shedied in the mortal realm, somebody could do the same for her.
In the desolate operating room, from behind an overturnedstretcher, a set of eyes fixated on Tabitha. Faint blue tendrils of smoke roseoff the boy, similar to the other dead children who found themselves trappedinside the asylum. With his memories still intact, the child had yet to turninto one of the tortured remnants.
Tabitha got to her feet, straightening her back. Both of herhands shimmered a vibrant blue, light pulsing softly from her fingertips. Thecolor reminded her of when she awoke on the floor of the hospital auditorium,before her essence started to slip away. For a brief moment, she expected herlungs to require air again. A gasp would break the perpetual silence, adeafening hiss crossing her dry lips in a world where the volume dial remainedon zero.
The intensity of the young ghost’s eyes sent a shiver along herskin. The boy must be six, only a few years older than her daughter. Hiding inthe room, the child had witnessed her reach into a remnant and deconstruct thelast of its light. For all the boy knew, she was a ghost killer. He continuedcowering as she walked from the operating room. When a heart attack robbedTabitha of her life, her daughter’s eyes had held the same look as theyexchanged tearful goodbyes.
Revitalized, her skin lost a bit of the numbness. Stiff paintchips moved under her slender digits as she dragged the tips of her fingersalong the wall. The sensation seemed distant, as if she were recalling it froma far-removed memory. Several pieces fell to the ground as she attempted torecount how many ghosts she had deconstructed. Two? A dozen? A hundred? Theyblurred together.
Tabitha walked through the hallways, glancing into each of theempty operating rooms, looking for more remnants. In life, she had been calledmany things, but only one title mattered in the afterlife. Witch. Behind herear should have been a subdermal node, technology granting her access to theinternet and her coven. Apparently technology didn’t transfer to the afterlife.No longer able to rely on implants or her spell-casting sisters, Tabitha wasleft with limited innate abilities.
Unlike other young girls, puberty brought many unsuspectingchanges. The trauma of her first period had been dwarfed by her ability to seelife’s source code. Tiny strands of light wove themselves between every objectin one beautiful and disorienting web. With effort, she found a talent tomanipulate the programming language of the universe. She had been called manythings, a freak, a life hacker, even a witch; ultimately, she was one of a fewgifted humans. The ghosts came later.
A dim blue figure stood near a filthy window in a recovery room.Tabitha recognized the pigtails on the ghost, a young woman who wandered thehalls until recently. Now, with almost no light remaining, she banged her headagainst the glass, reliving her death. The woman’s head turned, eyes clenchedshut and mouth gaping as she screamed in silence. The remnant hurled herself tothe floor, crawling along the ground until she vanished into the shadows.
Tabitha made note of the room number, promising to come back thenext night and deconstruct the woman. For a moment she considered pulling thedoor shut, expending the energy to grant the woman privacy. Fear of not beingable to open it tomorrow forced her hand back at her side. Hanging her head,staring at the warped floorboards covered in mold, she continued further intothe asylum, hoping she may find another former witch.
The sun vanished behind the tree line outside the hospital. Whatlittle warmth penetrated the dirty windows evaporated. The pitch black of nightsettled in, pulling at shadows until they stretched across the hall. In anhour, she would be immersed in a world of cerulean. The darkest blues would appearlike an abyss, only broken by the lost figures moving through the hospital in adaze.
Adjacent to a nurse’s station, wisps of blue light spiraledupward from the floor, coiling together until it resembled a figure. Had thisbeen before her death, she’d have been able to see the universe create a windowbetween worlds, implanting new code before her. As the light solidified, a manhad his arms across his face, bracing for impact. A crash victim, one of manywho entered the hospital, killed before they had time to make peace with theirdemise.
She found herself headed toward the auditorium housed in thecenter of the complex. Once she had been initiated into her coven, it becamerare to see the dead. Instead, ghosts desperate to communicate left messages onher computer, cryptic pleas reading, “I’m sorry,” or “Farewell.” It had nevercrossed her mind while alive, the dead spoke through the computer because therealm of ghosts stood void of sound.
Crash.
The sound stormed through the hospital, shaking the walls andthreatening to drive Tabitha to her knees. Hands covered her ears, trying toprotect her eardrums from bursting. As she fell to one knee, she opened hermouth in an attempt to scream, but her vocal chords refused to produce theshriek her body demanded.
Amongst the blue figures, several stared, heads cocked to theside, unaffected by what
